Muffled Courses
by A Vague Shape In The Dark
Summary: Dr. Bashir and Garak discuss a novel over lunch until Jadzia Dax interrupts them. Light hearted silliness. Reposted with a tiny bit of additional content.


**Disclaimer:** I do not claim any rights to the characters in this sad mash of words.

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Choosing to let his eyes linger on the arid ceiling of the Promenade rather than the smirking face of his melodious companion, Elim Garak, Dr. Bashir rolled his eyes to the rims of their illustrious sockets and allowed his mind to wander as freely as his gaze. The lofty ceiling he beheld was one of which he, with no instrument other than his searching eyes, had oft-painted in the shadowed hints and hues of boisterous Andorian cherubs. He'd imagined the blue sucklings fighting and flaying amid a thorny forest of discontent before complacently bobbing in time with the lyrical content of the Tailor's saccharin words.

Today, however, proved to be far too distracting for Bashir to form the blue, and sometimes white, bodies of the winged and troubled youth. And aiming to forget such pointless folly, the comely doctor closed his eyes and proceeded to press the tips of two bony fingers to his temple, as if to ease a headache. In the procedure of leaning forward previously engaged blood flooded the front of his skull, pooling in the slope where flesh and marrow bowed beneath the final wisps of attentively conditioned hair at the peak of his brow. Shaking his head the blood re-settled.

Channeling a hand, or breeze, wafting the soul of smoke from an extinguished match, the doctor dissipated the fragile silence between he and the Cardassian with an exhausted sigh that ran into soft, flowing words, "I-I'm sorry, Garak. Try as I might I cannot comprehend why a character that lives through only the first five pages of a novel needs to be mourned for the next 1000."

"Doctor, you exaggerate. Hadilic is not mourned for 1000 pages! Rather, 800," the velveteen tailor scoffed, presenting his ever-present grin.

Bashir's mouth opened to imitate the motion of speech but hurriedly he closed the scarlet chasm, thinking for the moment it might be best to keep his tongue, as well as his thoughts, caged. In desolation, he looked to the heart of the Promenade.

Only once the novel had long been forgotten by the tailor did the depth of Bashir's irritation burst forth: "The least Hadilic's insipid family could have done is relay the details of his life in those _800_ pages. Not a single passage gave reason why his family loved him as devotedly as they claimed to. I mean, for goodness' sake his husband, children, mother, siblings, servants ... every last one spoke only of the honor he'd found in death." The doctor laughed after a pause, "Say what you will but I am convinced a Klingon really penned the novel."

Garak did not voice his displeasure in any way other than to let loose a troubled moan before saying the following: "Oh, but as you'll note, doctor, each character recalled Hadilic's death differently. Surely you must find that to be of some interest."

"I didn't notice any difference. No. I'm afraid one would have to have your skills as a former spy to discern most of their meaningless drivel."

"Spy," Garak repeated, chuckling wryly, "doctor, when will you stop with all this spy nonsense?" he then sighed, seeing Bashir's grin. "It is worth the effort to 'discern their meaningless drivel'. I assure you."

"I would rather waste my time in other ways." Bashir's eyes momentarily focused on the table beneath his crossed hands, darting forward with fevered vibrancy.

Garak, taken slightly aback, assumed Julian was not insinuating what he so wished him to be insinuating, but...

_Maybe, just maybe. _

Garak followed Julian's gaze and was disappointed to discover his eyes had landed on Jadzia Dax. He knew Bashir's comment had been forgotten once the loquacious Trill materialized amid the shadows of the Replimat.

Jadzia smiled upon catching sight of Bashir and severed all temporary ties to the unknown Ensign she'd been chatting with. She waltzed forward and removed a seat from a nearby table, joining them - uninvited- at their sacred spot.

"Mr. Garak," she said hurriedly, acknowledging the tailor to her left with a nod, then quickly turned her attention back to the young doctor, "Julian, you won't believe what happened when the Major and I visited a holo-program last night."

_Oh Joy _thought the Cardassian as he searched the face of his companion. Julian appeared lost in her voice; his eyes were heavy and his fitful mouth finally found itself closed. His hands were laced under his chin - presumably so that he wouldn't have to bother focusing on anything menial, such as holding up his head, while listening to Jadzia's recap.

Garak bit the inside of his mouth. _Why'd she have to interrupt us? _

Bashir shifted in his seat, trying to wake a comatose limb, and as he brought life to the flat-lining his ankle brushed against Elim's.

Garak looked from the corner of his ridge enclosed eye to the doctor, wondering if he acknowledged the small exchange of their crossed flesh.

He did not.

Disappointed, Garak removed his hand from his own leg and let it rest beside Julian's outer thigh on the outskirts of the harsh replimat seat. _How daring, honestly._

Bashir stole a questioning glance at the Cardassian who, feigning innocence, smiled happily at Dax, pretending to be as entranced by the words escaping her dotted throat as the doctor had been earlier. The perplexed physician sighed, but did not remove the rough grayish hand from beside his leg, nor utter a request pleading the Cardassian to do so. In fact, Bashir did nothing other than let his eyes rest again on the Lieutenant.

Garak inhaled as he casually slipped his hand to cover Bashir's cloth covered knee. Julian was in mid sentence as Elim did this, and he watched gleefully as the good doctor paused for a few seconds, blinking as though battling a stay thought before resuming conversation.

Garak stayed in place until finally the doctor appeared relaxed again. As if he had forgotten where he was or who was thinking lurid thoughts beside him, though he did rather hastefully stir his Tarkalean tea.

"So what did you do after that?" Bashir asked Dax after a long pause.

Garak narrowed his eyes.

"Well, first I had to-," Jadzia started.

"GARAK!" Bashir shouted in shock, interrupting Dax. The Cardassian had placed his hand upon the tenderest of skin at the base of Julian's thigh which, mere breaths later, dissolved into consecrated shadow.

Dax spread her rouged lips into a grin as she surveyed the gladdened face of the tailor and the now fuming doctor. Fighting laughter, she pushed her seat away from the table, making an excuse to vacate the premises.

"I didn't realize the time. I have to get back to Ops... See you later," she said, her hands lingering momentarily on the table in order to steady herself.

The males were silent as they watched Jadzia's ascending frame merge into the crowd until she was inseparable from the light-headed throng.

Julian blinked several times. The ends of his upper teeth sinking lightly into the lip beneath as he looked toward the forever grinning compulsion beside him.

"Garak, would you mind telling me what has gotten into you?"

Coyly the tailor gazed at his beloved. "Nothing - that I'm aware of..."

Agitated, Bashir leaned back in his seat and ran a hand through his hair. "Well, I'm sure Dax was aware of an abundance of 'nothing'."

Garak, ignoring Julian, looked to the crowd and was perplexed to see Dax's face again as she neared them. Bowing at the waist she, with one arm behind her back, extended a hand before Mr. Garak. Uncurling her fingers she displayed within her grip a holo-program.

Jadzia's eyes blithely darted from one head of dark hair to the other. "I took the liberty of making a reservation for you at Quark's this evening. 2130. My treat." She held the amber colored stick before them, tapping its end before placing it in Garak's hand. "I think you'll appreciate it." And with that she turned on her heel and was gone.

"W-what is it?" Julian asked, snatching the stick from Garak's hands before he'd had a chance to read it. "I'm not familiar with this program," Julain said, studying it. "But... now that I think of it... I recall Dax mentioning a very interesting World War Two holoprogram the other day. It was after I told her about -"

"The air raid with Chief O'Brien," Garak interrupted, "Yes, Doctor, I've heard_ all _about it."

"Did Jadzia say 2130?"

"Yes. I believe she did."

"That doesn't give us much time. Let's head on over to Quark's." Julian's mind was abuzz with battle cries.

They found the business fairly busy, and had to wait to get the attention of the barkeep. When finally the Ferengi noticed them, he cackled and asked what it was the two gentlemen needed.

"Dax told us she reserved a holosuite for us at 2130. Here's the program," Bashir said, handing it over.

Quark hurriedly - and sneakily - read the title, giving a false smile before inserting it into the machine. "Fine. Go on up boys, have fun." Remembering something, he caught Bashir's arm and raised a little green fingernail before his face, "One hour only. Any more and I'll charge ya for a second session."

"Got it."

Quark began to mumble to himself once Garak and Bashir had made their way up the spiral staircase. Slowly creeping to the edge of the bar, he set about completing the tasks he paid his low-life, good for nothing waiters to do. "Oh, another Romulan Ale, Morn? What? Oh yeah, you saw them? Well, let's just say the Doctor and Garak are about to use a very, uh, stimulating holo-program," he chuckled lewdly. "You see, the sands on Ninipia Prime emit a special pheromone with a- Ah, so you've used the program. Well then you know, they won't be able to keep their hands off each other," he smiled. "What? What's with the look? You of all people, Morn. Jeeze. Sometimes I just want to see people happy."

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**A/N** Thank you for reading this! This is my first time writing for my favorite couple, and though it was a non-serious attempt I would love to hear your thoughts.

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